Didn't Listen
by The Assassin's Pen
Summary: Adam was supposed to read the company emails. If Adam had read the company emails, he wouldn't be the only one in Sarif Industries with a nasty flu bug. Sick fic requested by my sister in which Adam is a pain and the team (including David) tough love him through it.
1. Email

**Didn't Listen**

Everyone at Sarif industries read and heeded the email but Adam. _Everyone_. Even Pritchard.

**Flu shots available**, it read. **Surgeon general warns of signs of a particularly nasty strain this fall, so get vaccinated people!**

Adam deleted it without looking. If it didn't have David's name in the header in direct address to him he tended to click them off into cyberspace. Usually company-wide emails had something to do with a potluck or company deadline or something else that really didn't concern him. If his services were specially needed, David told him personally.

Adam sneezed, and Pritchard shot a look at him over the computer screen like Jensen had just dumped a bucket of spiders on his desk.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Pritchard griped, one eyebrow raised skeptically. "We do need stealth and you're looking a little clunkier than usual."

"I'm fine, Pritchard," Adam snapped, crossing his arms. "Maybe if you let the janitor in here once in a while instead of treating it like a CPU graveyard it wouldn't be so dusty."

"Oh yes, because lungs outfitted to handle toxic gas can't handle a little dust. You're sick, Jensen," Pritchard retorted, unplugging the new software he'd been programming with an aggressive yank. He held it out to Adam and the cyborg took it, snatching it up with an irritated click.

"I don't get sick."

"Sure you don't. Just try not to give it to the gang leader—they might be able to trace everything back to the one person in Detroit who didn't get vaccinated," Francis called after him as he left. Adam ignored him, tucking the tech into his pants pocket and buttoning the flap so it wouldn't fall out.

The mission was a quick in and out. Adam had his tranq rifle on his back, but he wasn't planning on using it. In, cloak, plant the transmitter Pritchard had just coded, out. The problem was on his way out his power cell ran out a split second faster than was ideal and his cloak shuddered off just as he dove for an air duct. He made more noise than he'd intended and had to crawl several feet in, shuffling around so he could watch. He lay there breathing heavily, hands over his mouth to muffle the sounds. He was not normally so easily winded. Far from it. As he listened to the warning shouts and startled swearing, he ducked his head a little lower and didn't move a muscle. His heart was pounding hard against the floor of the duct. It wasn't that he couldn't take the guys if they found him. It was that his battery cells clearly needed maintenance if they were charging that _slowly_ and he was supposed to avoid being seen. The entire mission would bust if he was noticed.

"What was that?"

"I don't know, sweep the area."

Adam cursed silently, inching slowly backwards, hoping he could get out before they could notice the grate he'd left open. He couldn't risk going after it and slipping it shut. The movement would definitely attract attention.

He was almost out when a hand over his mouth was just too late to stop the sneeze. His eyes went wide as there was an exclamation down the grate and a head dropped into view, mouth open to sound the alarm. He whipped out his stun gun and shot down the vent, hitting the guard full in the face. The man twitched twice and fell silently to the ground. Adam breathed a sigh, snapped the gun closed, popped an energy gel into his mouth to boost his cloak, and got out as fast as he could possibly go.

When he collapsed into the back of the VTOL Malik was giving him a skeptical look over the back of her chair, one eyebrow up. "What happened in there? You look pale."

"Nothing. Bad timing, that's all. I wasn't discovered, boss'll get what he wants."

Malik didn't look appeased. "Jensen, you're still breathing heavy. I know you were running but it wasn't that far. Are you okay?"

He waved her off. "Too many energy gels," he said, even though that didn't make any logical sense. "I'm fine."

He was not fine. Waking up the next morning he was shivering and initially thought his thermostat must be broken. Hugging himself and pulling on a sweater, Adam slumped with aching muscles into the kitchen to check the temperature readings. They were at a comfortable seventy three. He frowned, tapping the glass panel with a skeptical finger before sighing. He needed to get to work. David had already gone for the night by the time the mission had been over the day before, so Adam had only sent him a report. Apparently the boss wanted a debrief in person as well.

Adam slunk into his bathroom and splashed his face with water, running his fingers through his hair. He didn't feel like showering. Come to think of it, he didn't even feel like being upright. He brushed his teeth, finished getting dressed, and left. By the time he got to work his entire body hurt, even the fringes of his implants. His head had started throbbing, and not even his HUD glasses helped much. Only in David's office did he feel even remotely better and that was because the place was constantly mood-lit, even in daylight.

"Pritchard said you almost gave away our position last night, what's going on Ad-" David said, hearing Adam approach but not actually turning around. When he did turn around he stopped mid-word, sitting forward in his chair. "Adam, you look terrible," he said bluntly.

"Thanks boss. Is this really why you wanted to see me?" Adam asked, folding his arms, though it was more because he was cold and tired and trying to keep himself conscious.

David got up and walked around the table, his brow furrowed. "No, I called you in because I wanted to get your side of what happened. A report didn't quite do it when Pritchard was yapping off about how you needed a performance review if you couldn't handle a simple in and out. I thought he was full of hot air, as usual, but something is going on," he said, his voice dipping dangerously into _I'm actually concerned _territory. He went up to Adam and peered at him in a way that made Adam feel like backing up.

"Pritchard's never happy with my 'performance' no matter how it goes. You know that," he reasoned evenly. "Boss, look no offense but you're a little too close for comfort. Mind telling me what you're looking for?"

"Rejection around your visual implants," David said, backing up to a comfortable distance and planting his hands on his hips. "Are you having rejection symptoms and ignoring them?" he asked, his tone scolding.

"What? No! It's been almost two years, if my body was going to ditch the implants it would have tried at least a year ago."

"All the same, you should probably go to LIMB clinic, see what they have to say. Your body did take to the augments unnaturally well—there may be delayed irritation."

Adam sighed. "I'll go to the clinic if I have to but right now all I really want to do is finish up here and get back to my office. I need to go over the security logs from last night and I have two new potential guards to review."

David waved a hand, returning to his desk. "The security logs are clear and the guards can wait. We're not that short staffed right now. You need to go to a clinic, this could be serious, son."

"Why?" Adam snapped, feeling irritable as his headache ate through the dark of the room. "Because I sneezed in an air vent and almost got caught? Is this some elaborate revenge plan from Pritchard because I nabbed his Cyberboost stash?"

David's eyebrows went up and he chuckled. "So that was you."

Adam pressed his lips together.

"Look, Adam. I know Francis can be annoying but you guys do work well together and you are kind of two halves of my security whole. I need you to mesh when you can, all right? Honestly I think Frank was worried about you, in his own way. And now I can see why. You look sick, son. You're too pale and if I didn't know better I'd say you have a fever, both of which are signs of implant rejection. Now with someone like me who has minimal work that kind of thing can be put off. But with you—"

"I know," he huffed. "Half my body's wire now. I get it."

"More than half, and quite a bit of it is laced into vital organs." David was sitting forward with his hands laced on his desk, the tone of his voice somber. "I just want to make sure you're healthy."

"Fine. I'll go to the clinic. I was thinking about having my sentinel implant and internal batteries looked at anyway."

David frowned. "Why? Were you injured?"

"No, but my batteries died faster than they should have which is why I was stuck in that situation at the plant to begin with. Today I'm aching, but it's not regular muscle soreness. I must have torn something getting away and the sentinel didn't fix it."

David's brows drew together and he squinted, as though something was clicking. "Adam, did you get my email about the flu strain?"

"Yeah, probably. Why?"

"Did you get the vaccination?"

"No. Didn't think I needed it."

David groaned, leaning back in his chair and covering his eyes with his metal hand. "Adam, the sentinel implant is designed to heal severely damaged tissue and prevent excess blood loss. It doesn't stop you from getting sick!"

Adam hesitated, folding his arms self-consciously. "It—it doesn't?"

"No! That's all up to your immune system, and with the flu bug that's out this year no-one's ready for that. It's no wonder your battery cells ran out. They're charged by your living tissue which is why the cyberboost bars work. Right now you're running on half-speed at best." David almost laughed. "Skip the clinic and go straight home. You're not rejecting the augments, you're sick."

"I can't be—"

"Adam," David said pointedly, leaning over his desk and staring at him. "You. Are. Sick. Go home until you've been without a fever for at least twenty four hours. I don't want to risk it mutating inside you and giving it to someone else who has actually had the vaccine."

"Boss—"

"Go. This is not up for negotiation, Adam. Go home."

Adam sighed, turning and going out the door.

When he got back to his apartment he felt utterly exhausted. Just the walk from Sarif back to his place had felt like ten miles. And he was too warm. He was still shivering as he peeled his shirt over his head, but he was sweating too and his face felt dry. He swallowed painfully, trudging apathetically into the kitchen. He ran some water and drank out of his cupped hands, too lazy to get out a glass. When he finished he stood there leaning against the counter and staring out at a frankly beautiful day. The sun was out, it was an easy 66 degrees, and the green of the rooftop gardens and private terraces bred a little life into the golden city. It was a shame he felt like death. He went to his work table and slumped down, fiddling with the delicate gears of an antique clock he'd been cleaning and intending to put back together. He'd started the project four months ago.

He tried to work on it, but his headache was getting worse so he went back to his bathroom and swallowed a few pain pills, something he hadn't done since the last time he'd been shot. His head throbbing, he slumped face-first into his bed, clicking the remote to close the blinds. The sunlight felt nice on his back, but it was not helping his headache.

When he woke again he was shivering and he felt distinctly nauseous and weak at the same time. He realized he hadn't eaten all day. He glanced up at the bowl and half-empty cereal box on his dresser and debated if getting up was worth it. He decided it wasn't. He was just about to close his eyes again when the fuzzy request of an infolink call came through.

"I don't mean to come by all I told you so, Jensen, but, well. I did tell you."

"What do you want, Pritchard?" Adam groaned, his voice barely above a growl.

"Thought you could use a few things, but if you'd rather suffer in silence then by all means."

"You brought me—"

"Painkillers, a fever dampener, electrolyte supplements, and soup. You're welcome. Now before I decide to place my limited charity where it deserves to go and drop this off at a homeless shelter let me in. Or would you prefer I hack your security panel?"

Adam opened his eyes, propping himself up on his elbows, staring into his rumpled pillow. "You're outside of my apartment?"

"Yes. And I don't have arms of steel, so come let me in before I dump this on the floor and leave."

Adam fumbled for the secondary security panel installed by his bed. He put a code in and heard the distant click of the door unlocking. "Let yourself in. I'm in the bedroom."

"You're too kind." Pritchard's tone was flat and Adam heard him end the link and open the door. It hissed shut behind him with a friendly click. Moments later and Pritchard was standing like a ruffled scarecrow at the foot of Adam's bed. Adam glanced up at him through his sunglasses, plopping his head back down.

"The glasses in this cave, really? The least you can do is look at me," Pritchard exclaimed, moving to the dresser and dumping the armful of supplies onto it.

Adam squinted, clicking open only one of the lenses so he could glare at the hacker before clicking the shade closed again.

"Very mature," Pritchard mumbled, hands on his hips.

Adam sniggered a little, his grin half smirk.

"What is so funny?"

"Nothing I didn't know I could retract one at a time. I'm going to remember that."

Pritchard rolled his eyes. "Like a child with a touch pad."

"You lose a bet with Malik?" he re-directed, shuffling around and pulling his pillow into his chest so he could prop his chin on it. He was turned so he could see Pritchard without really moving.

"No. Contrary to your opinion I can be nice sometimes. Besides, with you here my job gets harder so it's in my best interest to get you back to work as soon as possible."

"Good to know I'm missed already," Adam snorted. "You're not worried I'm going to get you sick?"

"Unlike you, I actually read company emails. They carry time sensitive, important information."

"Yeah, the _Men of Sarif_ pin-up calendar photoshoot was really pressing. Good to know you're so into company spirit."

Francis colored. "That was for charity. It's good for the public to see that we are proud of our work and like to give back."

Adam sniggered again, but this time it turned into a dry, painful cough that had his back muscles seizing up harsh and tight.

Prichard didn't move for several long moments, but when Adam's coughing didn't let up he disappeared with a furrowed brow and returned a minute later with a glass of water. He dug through the things he'd brought and plunked a blue tablet into the liquid where it dissolved in a violent fizzing. He knelt next to Adam and held out the glass.

Adam took it and pulled a drink to get the coughing under control, though it tasted awful and he grimaced, shaking his head and setting the glass on the floor by his bed for a moment. "Ugh," he made a face. "What was that?"

"The electrolytes. It's a high energy mix, should replenish vitamins and help keep your power cells topped up."

Adam wondered how sick he must look for Pritchard to get through an entire sentence without mocking him. "Thanks," he managed, forcing himself to take down more of the foul liquid. He scraped his tongue against his teeth and shuddered as he managed to take down the last dregs of it.

Pritchard took the glass without prompting and rinsed it out in the bathroom, filling it with regular water and returning to Adam's side.

"Do you want the soup now?" he asked after Adam had taken a long drink, catching his breath. Adam set the glass back on the floor and curled onto his side, not really caring how he appeared to Pritchard at the moment. He could feel the tech's eyes on him, and he realized Francis probably hadn't realized how extensive the reconstruction and scarring on Adam's torso really was.

"No," he said, wincing as another pang hit his stomach. He was almost regretting drinking the water, but he was so thirsty…

Francis was still watching him, and when he glanced up at the tech's face he saw actual muted shock. Maybe even a tint of horror.

"The reports didn't do it justice, huh Pritchard?" Adam rasped, a hint of triumphant malice to his tone. He knew even without his social enhancements that Francis was feeling immensely guilty for how he'd treated Adam the first few days he'd been back after the attack. The thin lines of scar tissue from where the glass and the beating from Namir had torn open his stomach and side were still visible, and though his augments were fully integrated and healed there were still suture sites and an odd wrap of flesh over implanted struts. Only Adam, David, Faridah, and Adam's doctors had really seen the lingering fingerprints of violence left on him. Everyone else had just read reports.

Prichard looked up suddenly as though he'd been startled, his expression withdrawing into something that tried to be guarded. "You should sleep," he said, tone clipped as he stood. "If you can't be bothered to get up yourself later I'll try to come back and make sure you don't starve to death, but no promises."

"Right. I would hate to tarnish your reputation." He tucked the pillow up under his head and rest everything on his partially folded arms. Prichard went briskly out of the room, but not before Adam caught his glance back and sobered expression. It was one thing for Pritchard to work as tech support when he was in the field—it was another entirely for the hacker to see Adam at home where the augments that seemed so like work tools were just as much a part of his home life. For Pritchard, it probably hadn't occurred to him fully how much Adam couldn't ever escape his work or the mark it had left on him. Francis could leave his keyboard at Sarif at the end of the day. Adam couldn't.

Not that Adam wasn't really at peace about it at that point. Sometimes he still had nightmares. Sometimes he still missed his old limbs. But the Sarif prosthetics and his new abilities were so comfortable and familiar he wasn't sure what he would do if given his old body back. He wasn't sure he wanted it back. He'd learned to walk, sit, move, carry himself, even fight completely differently and that was him now. He used to avoid using the arms in any way that wasn't completely necessary. He'd found them alien and sometimes repulsive, but now they were as comfortable as living flesh. He pulled his hand out from under his pillow and tucked his forearm on top, leaning his temple against it.

His head was still throbbing, but at least he didn't feel so violently cold and hot all at once anymore. He passed out again, but woke hours later shivering anew, his muscles seizing up completely against his will. Sometimes the shuddering was so hard it hurt and after twenty minutes of huddling under his blankets he was aching with actual muscle fatigue.

He turned his head with a wince, swallowing with a very sore throat. The clock built into his headboard said it was nearly nine at night. Moving slowly, taking the blanket with him, Adam wrapped it around his back and folded it up with his arms, hunching his shoulders as he went to the window and opened the digital blinds. The sky was dark and the warm glow of the golden skyline settled across his floor in bars. He sighed and realized he couldn't quite breathe through his nose.

He had intended to go to the kitchen, but instead he only made it to the couch and sat heavily down, staring listlessly at the silent TV. He wasn't sure what he'd been intending to do, only that he felt incredibly weak and knew it was probably because he hadn't eaten anything all day. Any real thought of food had him wanting to retch, though the water he'd had earlier was long gone from his stomach. He couldn't remember when Pritchard had stopped by but it had probably been at least four hours before. He sighed, eyes half closed. He just wanted to go into a coma until it was over. Not being able to breathe properly was a highly unwelcome addition to the already miserable symptoms. Slowly, he hunched over on the couch and drew his legs up, curling up with his back to the TV, closing his eyes.


	2. Rooftop

Malik had gotten off work a little early and Pritchard had intercepted her on her way home.

"I have a million reports to file after that incident with the viral hack ware at lunch and David seems to think Adam can't survive five minutes without tech support. Will you go make sure he hasn't killed himself with his incompetence?"

Translation: _Adam's sick and I'm worried and David's worried and we're all worried and we're both busy and I'm insecure so please go be helpful for us_ _until we can get there_.

Malik raised her eyebrows and tried to hide her smile. "I'll go check on him."

"Thank you."

When she ran into David on her way out the front door she knew Adam must be _really_ sick and then she started to worry.

"I already talked to Pritchard, is there something else I should know, boss?" she asked.

"No, I just wanted to make sure someone goes to check on him. I don't want to risk bothering him over his info link. I know a buzz in the head when you've got a headache can be excruciating. He probably doesn't even have the darn thing on."

"He's that sick, huh?" Malik asked, her brow furrowed. "Do you think he should be in a hospital?"

"No, nothing like that," David said, trying to wave it off. "He just—well he's Adam. He overestimates himself sometimes. You know how it is. You saw him after New York. I practically had to threaten him home this morning."

Oh she remembered New York all right. New York and the army-grade bots and the losing of three pints of blood and the passing out in the back of the VTOL. She shook her head. Adam's heart had nearly stopped on the way back to Sarif. "Yeah, I get your point."

When she reached Adam's apartment the door was locked. She knocked once, calling for him, then tapped open the security panel and swiped the bio code that David had given her. Slipping in with no more noise than was made by the gentle hiss of the door closing, Faridah looked around for signs of Adam. Her brow furrowed when she didn't find him in the bedroom or bathroom, but as she returned to the lounge area she heard muffled, difficult breathing. She followed it to the source, and as miserable as Adam was she couldn't physically stop herself from thinking immediately that he looked _adorable_.

Curled up with his back to her, blanket hunched around him, knees up, and his head in the crook of the couch he looked like the quintessential kid in an adult body. And he was snoring. Not a lot and not very loud, but the uneasy breaths that managed to get through his nose were louder than they should have been and oddly dampened by the cushion he had his forehead pressed against. She couldn't believe he was truly comfortable, which only magnified how very tired he must really be.

She knelt next to the couch, placing her wrist against his temple. She winced for him. His skin was uncomfortably hot. Worryingly so. Frowning, she slipped off her backpack and dug through the stuff she'd brought for a thermometer. She clicked it on and waited for the beep before running the cool metal over his forehead and around the back of his ear. The display flashed a warning and then displayed 102.8.

"Okay spy boy, I know you're naturally easy on the eyes but this is the wrong kind of hot. Another few degrees and we're looking at brain damage and then Pritchard will be right and I don't think I can live with that kind of gloating." She shook him gently, fully aware that fevers that high could lead to hallucinations. In a veteran fighter like Adam, those hallucinations could turn very, very dangerous for anyone near him. Adam stirred weakly, and his eyes came partially open, but he didn't seem aware of her.

She worried her lip, thinking about what the best course of action would be. She needed to cool him down. She thought about taking his blanket but the way it was wound around his arms she knew she would never be able to. He would instinctively fight her, and even if his organic muscles were weak the ones in his arms capable of punching a hole through a concrete wall were not. Pritchard had said something about a fever suppressant, so she got up and went back to Adam's bedroom, finding the syringe on the dresser. Prepping the medicine with a soft click and the turn of a dial, Faridah went back to Adam and eased the needle into the side of his neck as quickly as she could, depressing the plunger with a sharp hiss. Adam flinched away as she withdrew the point, but he didn't wake up.

Knowing the medicine would take at least ten minutes to really get into his blood and start helping, Faridah went to the kitchen and started digging through his freezer for ice. She filled plastic bags with everything that was the bin and then proceeded to tuck them in around his chest, slipping one or two in-between the folds of the blanket where she could. She didn't want to shock him into delusional awareness, but she hoped that tucking the cold packs near major arteries would help bring his fever down more quickly before it could be really dangerous. Adam began shivering again, so she drew up a chair and sat next to him, stroking his hair soothingly. She scratched her nails gently along his scalp, taking his temperature every ten minutes or so until his eyes cracked open and there was a weary flash as the optical augments focused on her.

"Hey spy boy," she said gently, giving him a sad smile. "You're pretty sick. How are you feeling?" she asked, reaching for the thermometer again.

He swallowed weakly, staring at her as though it was difficult to process and answer. Eventually he managed. "Malik?"

"Well you're not hallucinating and your fever isn't as bad as it was, so that's good," she said, checking the display. She'd gotten him down to 103. "If you think you can handle it it might be good to let the fever stay where it is, burn most of this out of your system. I can remove the ice, if you want. You're just going to feel pretty achy and weak for a while."

Adam didn't respond, but he did hunch his back enough to bump one of the ice packs off the couch and then wrapped the blanket a little closer with a shudder. Malik chuckled.

"All right, give me a second. But if you're going to let this thing go then I'm staying the night and you're going to have to make yourself drink. Your skin is already drier than it should be," she said, gathering up the ice and moving to dump the half-melted bags into the sink. There was a muffled clatter as his freezer produced more ice and she was suddenly grateful that David insisted on the best everything for his higher grade employees.

When she went back to Adam he was moving stiffly to sit up, his limbs shaking with weariness and his face unnaturally pale. Though his augments didn't suffer fatigue, the muscles in his chest and back that helped operate them were all but spent and it was making movement incredibly difficult. Malik stooped next to him, helping steady him so he could lean into the corner of the couch and wrap the blanket more tightly around his chest and stomach.

"Here, drink this," she said, holding out another blue concoction from the electrolytes Pritchard had dropped off. Adam made a face, but it was half-hearted. "I know it tastes like jet fuel but you're not looking so good and if you don't drink it then you're going to end up in a hospital with an IV. Which you may already need."

Adam made a different sort of face and took the glass without comment, though his grip on it was unsure and he seemed exhausted just by the effort of keeping it steady while he drank. "You shouldn't stay," Adam managed when he finished, all but dropping his arm and the glass into his lap. Malik frowned and took the glass, setting it on the table.

"You need someone right now Adam. If I hadn't come in who knows how bad your fever would have gotten. You were almost at 105, and at 106 the human brain starts to cook."

"You could catch it," he argued, his voice not much of one.

"I got vaccinated, don't worry about me."

"Could mutate," he pointed out weakly.

"I'll take my chances, now quit playing hero," Malik chided, turning his head gently so she could look into eyes that weren't quite focused properly and were badly glazed with fever. She pressed gentle fingers into the hollow beneath his jaw and felt his pulse beating too quickly. "You haven't eaten, have you?"

He pulled his head away and looked down, fisting his hand in the blanket. "Don't think it would stay down," he admitted.

"You're not going to get better if you don't have the energy to," Malik pointed out, sighing and getting up. "I brought nausea meds and broth. First you take the meds," she said, slapping a tray of gels into his open palm. "And then you drink the broth. If you handle the broth I have crackers too."

She took the mixture into the kitchen and began heating water and retrieving a bowl and spoon before he could say anything against it.

Adam ate all the broth, and thankfully he was able to keep it down. His tremors had settled a little from the intake of food, but instead of making him look better it just made him look more exhausted. His body no longer completely deprived of nutrients and his temperature relatively stable, Adam just curled up on his side, blankets hunched over his shoulders, head propped up on a pillow. He didn't move. At all. He just lay there with his eyes half-lidded and his skin washed out. Malik washed up his bowl and went back to sit with him, opting to settle herself on his coffee table. He didn't seem to care.

"You need a hot bath," Malik said, her brow knitting as she withdrew the thermometer again. "Your lungs sound congested and the steam would help. Plus you'd feel better."

"Don't have a bath," he mumbled, an audible rattle combing through the breath he tried to draw.

Malik crossed her legs, propping her elbows on her knees and plopping her chin into her hand. "I do."

"Malik, if you think I can move down three floors right now…"

"No, I know. Later. When your fever has gone down. Steam is still not such a bad idea though…."

She got up, going into his bathroom. In a few minutes the shower was running. It continued to run for twenty minutes, and still Malik didn't return. When she did, she was rubbing her head with one of his towels and had changed into a tank-top and lose sweatpants. He squinted up at her, his expression incredulous.

"Did you just shower and steal my towel to do it?"

"I used your shampoo too, sorry. I planned for a change of clothes, I didn't plan to shower but you needed the bathroom steamed up so I took advantage," she said, dropping the towel on the back of his couch and circling around to stand in front of him. "Come on big guy," she coaxed, tugging the blanket back. "Let's get you into the bathroom. It's nice and warm in there and there's so much steam you could cook vegetables."

"Malik—" Adam groaned, tightening his hold on the blanket. The servos in his fingers whirred obstinately as Malik pulled back.

"Adam—" Malik mocked, digging her heels in and pulling with both hands. She was no match for Adam's augments but she was far from weak.

"Malik just go home and let me sleep."

"You-" she tugged and the blanket slipped a little. "Can't" she yanked again. "Sleep" she bent her knees and leaned back with all her weight. "If. You. Can't. Breathe-uff!" Adam was sitting up at this point, but she'd pulled a little too hard and Adam suddenly let go of the blanket, leaving Malik to fall hard on her backside. She was stunned for half a second but quickly scrambled to snatch the comforter up and pile it behind her back. After one more thought she scooted backwards and sat dead in the middle of it, folding her legs and arms.

Adam was laughing, but that quickly turned into coughing and he had to stop, unable to draw enough air to keep it up. Malik's eyebrows shot up and she pointed emphatically towards the bathroom. "Go. Now."

"Faridah, come on I'm not in the mood for this. Give me back the blanket and let me go to sleep."

Malik's expression remained.

"Faridah."

"If you're healthy enough to glare at me and argue, then you're healthy enough to go to the bathroom and sit in the steam for a while. Come on Jensen, only you would argue this much about doing something that will honestly make you feel better."

Adam stared at her with exasperation, his fingers digging into the edge of the couch. "Mal-"

Malik got up and clapped a hand suddenly over his mouth staring him down. "Adam. Marcus. Jensen. Stop fighting me."

She pulled her hand away and he drew his head back, squinting at her. "Marcus is not my middle name" he rasped through another cough.

"Yelling at you didn't seem as emphatic without one and I didn't know yours so I guessed."

"I don't have one."

"Then I'll have to find another way to yell at you." she looped her arm around his bicep and tugged, trying to haul him up. "Point still stands, you're going to go breathe that steam until you stop sounding like the VTOL. The mucus in your lungs could give you an infection on top of everything if you're not careful and then you really will be going to the hospital."

Adam sighed, pushing painfully to his feet, letting Malik haul him towards the bathroom.

When she had him sitting on the toilet lid she turned the shower back on and tucked the towel against the door to keep as much steam in as possible. She wet another towel down with warm water and draped it over Adam's shoulders, ignoring his eye roll. His breathing already sounded better. She dug through his drawer and retrieved a washcloth, wetting it down and handing it to him.

"What's this for?" he asked, slumping back to lean wearily against the wall.

"Hopefully the steam will loosen up the phlegm, which means you're going to start coughing it up. Honestly Adam, were you really never sick as a kid?"

"Wonderful," he muttered.

Adam was only half asleep when the sound of movement and the smell of warm bread came to him. He groaned, turning over and burying his face in his pillow. Footsteps, heavier than he was expecting, came towards his bedroom and a shadow fell across him.

"Are you going to lay there wasting away or are you going to come eat something? Malik said your fever was down, so a little bread isn't going to hurt you."

Adam rolled onto his back, squinting up at Pritchard through his lenses. It must have been early morning, because Pritchard's scowl and hands on hips stance was backlit by bright sunlight.

"Where's Malik?" He swallowed painfully, biting back another groan as the light made his head throb. He didn't even want to think about what it would be like if he retracted his shades.

"Had an emergency mission, Sarif needed to go to go suddenly. Apparently there's a patent debate with what's left of Tai Young. So I'm here to make sure you don't wilt away while she's gone. You're welcome."

Adam sighed, flopping a forearm over his eyes. "No-one asked you, Pritchard. I don't need your help."

He couldn't see, but he could sense the other man shift, folding his arms. "Actually Malik and Sarif asked me. Apparently they're _worried_ about you. And apparently you do need my help. And Malik's. She tells me you've eaten next to nothing. That might be fine for a normal person, Jensen. But your augments consume extra energy and you don't exactly have fat to spare."

"You know an awful lot about my body, Pritchard," Adam muttered, moving his arm and glaring at the hacker.

"Burden of filing your recovery reports, I promise you. Not to mention Sarif expects me to be your tech support in the field. Why do you think I was able to fix your visual processors way back when you were still learning the names of all your new body parts?" He cocked his hips a little and Adam stifled a snort of amusement. Pritchard ignored it. "David made me learn every cable and spark plug in your particular model. It's not my fault that your specs are burned into my retinas."

Adam sighed, moving slowly to a sitting position. "I'm sorry that losing my limbs was inconvenient for you," he said, standing painfully and heading towards the bathroom. Every muscle he still retained was aching.

"Look, I'm just trying to help you. You don't need to snap at me at every turn. When you're ready there's fresh bread and chicken soup on your work table. I'll be working on the couch, in case you care."

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Working?"

"David had some programming for me to do so I brought a prototype mirror of the network with me on my laptop. Figured then I could work here instead of running back and forth all day."

"You're staying?"

"I thought that was obvious."

"Pritchard—"

But the tech worker wasn't listening. He'd gone into the other room, and Adam decided that arguing with him was sapping energy he just didn't have. He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, retracting his shades so he could rub his eyes. They were bloodshot when he glanced at himself in the mirror. He sighed, resting his forearms on the counter and bending wearily over the sink. He was hungry, and his limbs were shaking with the fatigue in his torso muscles.

He hated to admit it, but Pritchard had a serious point. There was a reason half his inventory had become energy bars. His prosthetics sucked energy like a black hole, and he was running on empty. The whine of the servos in his fingers and forearm were louder than normal as he closed his fist, and there was more drag on the movement. He felt like he was in slow motion.

Sighing, he undressed slowly and stepped into the shower, taking his time and trying to decide if his stomach was going to handle what Pritchard was offering. He did feel somewhat better after showering, and he wandered into the living room in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, running his metal fingers through his hair. Pritchard was sitting on his couch, a bundle of wires and screens on his lap and coffee table.

"Food got cold, had to heat it up again," Pritchard said, without looking up. His fingers tapped furiously across two and a half keyboards.

"Thanks, mother," Adam drawled, moving to his work table where a piece of bread and a bowl of soup were waiting. The soup sent tendrils into the air that made his mouth water and his stomach twist. He swallowed, feeling in his gut that he was going to regret this. His hand shook as he gripped the chair and sat heavily down, and he knew that Malik was right. If he didn't get some calories in his system, he was going to end up in the hospital with a multi-line IV probably about as nasty as what he'd dealt with after his surgeries. He took a mouthful of soup and blew on it, swallowing it down hesitantly. When his stomach didn't immediately get worse he continued.

When he went for the bread it gave him sudden pause. It wasn't any bread he'd ever seen in the stores. He turned around, holding the rough hunk of still warm bread. "Pritchard…?" he said slowly, looking up at the techie who was still ignoring him. "Did you bake this?"

Frank colored and snorted, clicking open a new window and continuing his hacking. "Please, does it look like I have time to bake artisan bread?"

"Okay, then where did it come from?"

"Why don't you give the interrogations a rest?"

Adam smirked. "Come on _Francis_."

Pritchard's back stiffened and his fingers tripped over each other a little. "It's from my grandmother."

Adam's smirk turned into a grin and he raised his eyebrows. "Wow, didn't know anyone but your security AI cared."

"She heard you were sick and insisted."

"And how did she know I was sick, Francis?"

Pritchard's fingers tightened up further. "Because I was telling her how you're a toxic threat to the entire company," he snapped.

Adam chuckled, turning back to his soup. "Sure."

Unfortunately, Adam was more toxic than he'd thought. He pushed it a little too far with the soup and forty minutes later he was kneeling over the toilet, heaving even after everything had come back up. A presence came in and his back and Adam spit angrily into the bowl, reaching up to flush.

"Go away, Francis," he growled, leaning his forehead on his forearm. There was no response and Adam thought Pritchard had gone until he felt a hand on his back. He tensed up, jumping a little and panting, sweat glittering across his neck and shoulders. A glass of water appeared within his reach and he took it, slowly drinking down the cool liquid. Pritchard didn't say anything, he simply ran his hand back and forth across Adam's shoulders.

Jensen dropped his head back to his forearm and sat slumped for several minutes, just breathing past the nausea and praying he could keep the water down. Pritchard still had his hand on his back, and as weird as it was he couldn't squash the gratitude he was feeling. When he got his breathing under control he felt Francis slip a hand around the back of his neck and place searching fingers against his carotid. Adam let him, glancing up and shifting to sit with his back against the cabinet when Pritchard took his hand away.

"Adam, you need an IV. Your pulse is dangerously fast and the reaction time on your prosthetics is cut in half." Pritchard's brow was furrowed and his shoulders hunched. He wasn't trying to hide the worry in his eyes this time. "If you don't get something in your system you could be facing a coma. It would be a natural panic response to your augments sapping too much energy, and getting you back from that is not as easy as just plugging you in for a recharge."

Jensen drew his knees up and rest his elbows on them, burying his head in his hands. Pritchard put a reassuring hand on Adam's shoulder and then got up. "I'll go make a few calls."

Four hours later Malik came through the door with a cooler full of saline and nutrient drips. She was still wearing her Sarif flight suit, but her shift was over and she conversed quietly with Pritchard before the tech packed up his wires and slipped out. Adam was sitting listless on the couch, sipping at a glass of water that was slowly growing lukewarm and unpleasant. He ached too much to get up and fix it, and any painkillers he tried to down didn't stay in his stomach for more than five minutes.

Malik came cautiously around the side of the couch, setting the cooler on the coffee table.

"Hey spy boy, how you feeling?"

Adam glanced at her and just closed his eyes.

"That's what I thought," she said gently, brushing his hair back from his face and kissing his forehead. "Don't worry, we'll get you back to sneaking through vents soon." She turned to the cooler and began digging, pulling out nutrient and hydration drips. She looked around for something to hook them on and ended up dragging his coat rack from near the door. She turned to Adam and swabbed the area of skin near his clavicle, making sure her hands were clean before unpacking the needles. "Little pinch," she said, and slid the point into his skin. His fingers twitched, but that was the only response as she secured the IV with some tape.

"Why do you know how to do this?" he rasped, glancing up at her as she secured the bags and snapped off the gloves she'd been wearing.

"You mean why besides the fact that I like you alive and I know you're too stubborn to go to a hospital?" she teased, smiling as she packed up the other stuff for later. "I got extended first aid training when I became a pilot. Sometimes first aid includes blood transfusions or saline, and that means needles. I have steady hands from being a pilot, so IVs aren't that hard."

"I had training too, but not IVs. More CPR and tourniquets."

"That's combat. You're not going to have an IV in the middle of a war zone. You're trained to get someone home, I'm trained to keep them alive with minimal stuff until we can get them to David." She set the cooler aside and disappeared into his bedroom long enough to grab his blanket. When she came back she handed it to him, watching the way he winced as he drew it up over his chest and arms.

"Scoot forward," she prompted, going to the back of the couch and settling her hands on his shoulders. He glanced back at her.

"Malik—"

"Are you really going to argue against a back-rub when you spent all day shirtless in front of Pritchard? Come on Adam, I know you're aching and I promise to be gentle. Another perk of being a pilot, I learned how to relieve tension."

He sat hesitantly and painfully forward, leaning on his elbows. "Since when is masseuse one of the requirements to be a Sarif pilot?"

She began working her thumbs into the knotted muscle either side of his spine, tracing gently around the ports drilled into his spine and ribs. They were long healed but the sensitivity in his sick body would make the port sites oddly sensitive. "It's less a requirement and more a survival tactic. Groups of pilots can be a tough, competitive crowed. You become everyone's friend really fast if you can work out the flight tension."

"Sounds like the equivalent of the SWAT guy who brings cigarettes," Adam mumbled, closing his eyes as some of the tension left his back. The relief was enormous, and it started to help his headache. Just a little relief from the pain was so welcome.

Malik kept working her way down his back, smoothing out cords of muscle. The helix connecters buried deep into his muscular tissue weren't visible, but she could feel them as she worked out the knots. It was almost imperceptible at first, but when she began to identify the metal anchors and nanite enhanced tissue she noticed a pattern. In the same way the uniform planes of his back were made of woven tissue, the blend from organic into technological was an elegant pattern of markers and servos laid out according to an equation few had the education to understand. She was struck by how oddly beautiful the harmony was. On so many people augments just didn't look right. The lumping scar tissue and glial residue made it plain that their bodies would fight them forever, rejecting the intrusion to natural symmetry. With Adam, it was almost as though he hadn't lost his limbs at all. Instead, it was as though his skin had been peeled away to reveal the elegant lines more natural than his living tissue. She knew that wasn't true, but it was astounding how easily muscle blended with metal and skin with wire mesh.

"David asked about you on the ride over to Tai Young's US base. I think he missed having you along," she said, kneading down his back.

"Tell him I learned my lesson about ignoring corporate emails and that I'll be back asap," he mumbled, rubbing his temples.

"I'm sure you will," she said, smiling and leaning down to kiss his cheek.

Adam feeling better was also an Adam well enough to be a huge pain in the butt. Malik and Pritchard didn't agree on much, but they agreed on that. Oh boy did they agree. For four days they'd been wrestling with him to make him stay in bed, make him stay away from work. At one point Pritchard even brandished his communicator like a weapon and called David, getting the boss to put his foot down and make Adam stay home another few days. Adam had not been happy about it, but he'd continued to improve exponentially until his voice was back to normal and he could breathe without a hitch.

"Adam. If you do not go to bed and get some sleep the illness _will_ come back and you'll be out for another week," Malik said, hands on her hips as she watched him ignore her and continue to field strip his weapon.

They were sitting on the ledge of the Chiron building that wasn't supposed to be sat on, just outside of his bedroom. He'd opened the window and climbed through it, completely deaf to her insistence that _this was not a good idea and will you please get back in here or so help me I'll push you off._ Adam was sitting cross-legged with his back against stone still holding warmth from the sun. Though it was soundly dark he was still calmly running a white cloth along his combat rifle. Malik didn't think there was enough light for a delicate task like that, even with the city blazing at their feet, but she didn't have visual augments.

"Malik, I ate and kept down a _steak_. I think I'm pretty far on the mend. I never stay sick as long as people expect me to anyway—I heal quickly." There was a soft click as he took the scope of his sniper rifle apart and gently removed the lenses, pinching them in the cloth and rubbing.

"Adam, it's almost ten. You finally got some real sleep last night, but that's making up for two weeks of being really, really ill. You almost went into a coma from nutrient deficiency for crying out loud!"

"Steak, Malik."

"Steak is not a pass. Steak just means you've eaten something besides cereal and Cyberboost bars, which is a freaking miracle."

He kept working, the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

She bent to look him in the face a little fuller, her eyes accusing. "Adam Jensen are you laughing at me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"I will push you off this ledge," she threatened. "Clear conscience. Could be cathartic. Your Icarus will catch you and I'll feel better."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing up at her. "Violence makes you feel better?"

"It's not violence. It's tough love. There's a difference. Violence would be if you didn't have the Icarus to catch you and I pushed you off."

"No, that would be murder," he countered, reaching for the magazine for the combat rifle. "What makes you think you could even stand me up right now, let alone throw me off the side of the building? Soaking wet you're still at least seventy pounds lighter than I am."

"Don't underestimate exasperation."

He sighed, leaning his head against the wall, looking up at her. His smile was still there, and his shades were retracted, softening his appearance. The warm, late spring air ruffled his hair and Malik thought he looked so young suddenly. It helped tremendously that his eyes were clear and bright, no longer glassy with fever and pain.

"What do you want from me, Malik?" he asked, resting his forearms on the sniper rifle where it was balanced across his knees. "I'm not tired. I feel better. I ate, I even took painkillers like you wanted me to. I'm not out jumping rooftops or getting into fights with Purity First. I'm sitting quietly on my roof, cleaning my weapons. I don't get much calmer than this. I bet my pulse isn't even over fifty right now."

"I'll take that bet," she said, plopping down next to him. "And if you're wrong not only are you going to bed _immediately_, but you are also buying me a drink."

He opened his mouth but she held up a finger, silencing him. "When you are better _completely_." She placed her fingers against his carotid artery and he rolled his eyes, turning his head away as he went back to his weapon. She counted off under her breath.

"Forty-nine," she said finally, dropping her hand and narrowing her eyes. "You're pushing it, spy boy."

"If you say so, Malik," he said lightly, the smile never leaving his lips as he reached for another cloth.


End file.
